


Degenerating Orbits

by salishseaselkie



Series: Of Lambs and Lions [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Romance, F/M, First Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 02:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5273633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salishseaselkie/pseuds/salishseaselkie





	Degenerating Orbits

Cullen watched the bridge, the long gray brick stretch from the gates to the outer walls, watching for Niamh to return. It had become habit: she would send word ahead that she was coming home, and he would count the days it took to travel from wherever she was: the Western Approach, the Hinterlands, Crestwood – it mattered little – and on the day he expected her back, his skin would crawl. He would pace, first behind his desk, then across his office, and then he would itch enough that he would go out and pace above the port-cullis, hoping to see her come in.

He really didn’t have any place to feel so possessive – true, she had been concerned for his safety after the destruction of Haven, and he…well, it shouldn’t have been so hard to let her go, to sacrifice herself for the good of the Inquisition. Her unique gift for sealing rifts aside, she was…irreplaceable. His heart faltered at the thought of losing her, something he’d not felt in ages, not since before Kinloch Hold, when he was still a young man.

Far off, where the road came over the mountain pass, horses charged through, four of them, all bearing riders. He felt his senses perk up, and he squinted to see who it was. They were too far off, but it wasn’t too much to hope that Niamh was on one of them. Today was the day she was supposed to be back from the Emerald Graves, and he’d been on edge all day – he’d snapped at three recruits and had bitten back a reprimand for one of Leliana’s messengers who had asked if he was all right. The dummy in the corner of his office had several knives expertly thrown into the head and chest from his desk, and it still hadn’t taken off the edge of his anxiety.

From one of the towers, he heard a woman call out, “Inquisitor approaches! Hoist the gate! Fly the colors!” He felt the low rumble of the chains beneath him pulling up the heavy metal port-cullis and he watched as the navy blue flag of the Inquisition flew over the highest tower. His heart jumped up for joy. As she drew closer, he could make out the dark plum color of her overcoat, the charred mahogany color of her forder, and he could see Varric, Cassandra, and Bull riding close behind her. Her golden-brown hair was pinned back, and as she got closer, he could see it was intricately braided to create a kind of crown around her head, much like what Cassandra often did with her hair. Her staff was harnessed behind her back, and the crystal at the end caught the sun’s light like the rarest of jewels.

She looked up, and Cullen felt the urge to shy away. He didn’t want her to see him pining for her, if he even dared to call it pining. She looked away before he could shrink back, and his heart sank. He wished she felt the same.

He peered down over the side of the parapet, where she gave her horse to one of Dennet’s men to unsaddle and brush out. Immediately, like bandits on a poorly guarded caravan, people descended upon her with reports and requests, and he felt a twinge of guilt. Had he not done enough to stem the flow of problems in Skyhold? Was it truly necessary for her to handle so much? He turned on his heel and took the route through his office to head her off in the main hall.

He passed Solas, who was well-absorbed in the books of elvhen lore, enough to barely notice his passing. Dorian, however, was perched above in the library, and saw Cullen racing through.

“Commander!” he called down with a brisk cheer. Cullen looked up, fighting the urge to tell him to bugger off.

“What?” Dorian narrowed his eyes, a small smirk on his lips.

He murmured, “Off to greet our lovely Inquisitor? I did hear the guards correctly, yes? She has returned?” Cullen felt his eye twitch.

He growled, “Yes…” Dorian merely smiled, his face the essence of innocence.

“Oh,” he politely responded. “I should let you go and…rescue her, hm?” As Cullen menaced, the Tevinter simply grinned, positively beaming. Did he take nothing seriously?

Instead of continuing what looked to be a fruitless and embarrassing conversation, Cullen continued to the main hall, Dorian calling after him “Send her to me when you are through embarrassing yourself! I have a new book for her to read!” As he opened the door, Niamh was stepping through the great doors, trying her best to assuage her followers. “Please, please, I know you all have your various grievances, but for pity’s sake, have them sent to my rooms to look over later.” She rubbed her temple as she said so, and Cullen wondered if she was having another migraine. He empathized. Where his migraines came from lyrium withdrawal, she got them on principle – her father got them too, a Trevelyan trait, she’d said, great brains with great pains.

He stepped forward to intervene. “You heard her! Leave her be!” Reluctantly, they retreated, some grumbling, some pouting, but they let her be, just the same. She sighed, relieved to be free, and she smiled at him. His heart brightened at the sight, and he felt a smile tugging at his lips. “Inquisitor.” He dipped his head to her, as was proper. “Is there anything else you need?”

She returned the gesture. “How about a giant sign telling them to kiss my foot? I only just got back, and already they descend on me like flies on horse shi-” Varric came up behind her, eyes alight.

“Now, now, Inquisitor…remember, you are the Herald of Andraste? You are too holy and mighty to need such things like, oh…I don’t know…a nap? Rest from your tiresome journey?” He chuckled. “But what do I know? I’m just the dwarf who stands in the shadow of one so greatly blessed.” Niamh shot him a look.

She grumbled, “I’d happily trade you any day if you are feeling deprived, Varric.” He put up his hands in defense.

“Oh, no, you keep the weird glowing mark. I am going to go sit over here and polish Bianca. Besides, I do believe I interrupted…” He winked at Cullen right as Niamh was turning away to return to their conversation. Cullen felt his face go up in flames as he turned away to address the Inquisitor.

He stuttered, “I-if you would like a sign made, I’m sure…” She shook her head with a smile.

“No,” she softly responded. “Varric is right. I am not a mere person to them. I am the Herald. I am more than myself, and I should not be so hard on them.” Cullen furrowed his brow. Now she played the martyr, and he felt unable to tolerate it.

He chided softly, “No matter what they see, you are still a person with needs, just like the rest of us. I will send up food to your room and ensure that you are not disturbed, if you should so desire.” He saw her face flush, and wondered if he’d touched her heart with such a small gesture.

She mumbled, “I…I would not decline…should you feel it necessary…” She twisted her ring around her finger, a small gold thing with a garnet set in the center – a gift from her brother, if her recalled correctly. “I…I don’t want to inconvenience anyone on my behalf.” Cullen extended his arm toward the door to her tower.

“Go. I will fetch you something to eat.” She shook her head.

She insisted, “Really, there’s no need…I’m sure you have other things…” But Cullen had already turned on his heel to go forth and make her return as relaxing as he could make it. It was the least he could do.

He extracted two guards for the task of keeping people out of her quarters, firmly instructing them that she was absolutely _not_  to be disturbed. Then he went to the kitchens and found her a small loaf of bread, a wedge of soft cheese – the kind she had mentioned that she preferred – and a bottle of spiced wine. He tucked the bottle under his arm, and put the bread and cheese in a bowl with a small knife, and made his way up to her rooms.

He entered, and called out, “I found you some of that cheese you like so much. I-” When he got to the top of the stairs leading to her room, and saw her half splayed across her bed, her legs hanging off. He smiled wryly. Her boots weren’t even off. He set her snack on her desk and reached for her shoulder.

“Inquisitor?” Nothing. He shook her again and whispered, “Inquisitor? Lady Trevelyan…  _Niamh_.” The use of her given name stirred her, and she turned her head to look at him. When she saw it was, she smiled and rubbed her eyes.

“Cullen…” she murmured, and the way her voice purred over his name sent shivers down his spine. She threw an arms over her eyes and whispered, “I’m too tired.”  _Poor girl_. He tapped her side with a hand lightly, coaxing her to scoot over, and when she did, he sat on the end of the bed.

“Give me your foot.” She half-heartedly raised one, and he unlaced a boot. He heard rustling, and he glanced to the side to see her watching him, eyes curious.

She furrowed her brow at him. “You don’t have to do that,” she declared, but by the time she did, he was yanking it off.

“You said you were too tired.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

She retorted quizzically, suspiciously, “What’s your game, Commander?”  He chuckled.

“No game,” he answered, hoping to put her unease to rest. He smiled at her, but did not continue with the other foot. Perhaps he  _had_  stepped out of line.

He stood up. “I just thought you’d appreciate a little looking after.” She cocked her head to the side.

“I don’t need a servant, Cullen.” So he thought.

He bowed at the waste, feeling very foolish. “As you command, My Lady.” He turned around to walk away, but then she called out, “Wait!”

When he turned to look back, her other boot was stuck in the air as she leaned back on the bed. “You forgot one,” she announced, and there was a glint of daring in her eye.  _Come and serve me, if you dare_ , her electric blue eyes seemed to say.  _Come and serve your Herald if you be fit enough_. Those were the same eyes she had thrown him when they had played chess, when he had let her win, and somehow she had known it. She never said it, but the way her eyes had pierced him upon parting, she had seen right through him.

And now they saw right to his heart, where he yearned to be of use to her, and here she was, daring him to entertain his fantasies. He laughed. “Forgive me, Inquisitor.” He sat next to her, and plied her laces, and she talked to him about the Emerald Graves, how beautiful and terrible they were. She informed him of the red templars there, of the Freemen, and of the giants who seemed to take particular liking to the highlands there. She talked about how absolutely  _green_  it was, and how she wished it wasn’t so dangerous there. He asked why, and she said, “I’m absolutely sure my parents would find it to be a lovely summer home.” He chuckled, the boot off and forgotten, and he realized how much time he had spent in her room.

He balked. It was inappropriate in such an intimate setting. “Oh,” he breathed, and he stood up. “I’m sorry…you wanted to sleep, and here, I’ve squandered all of your time.” He looked towards the door, but a cool hand took his, and he looked where she held his hand tight and sure.

Her eyes reassured him as she smiled a small, demure smile. “Please…Commander…” Her gaze flitted down in a small moment of doubt, and then switched back up, looking up at him from beneath brown lashes. “I…truly, I hadn’t realized how much time had gone by. Is it wasteful if we’ve enjoyed ourselves?”

He couldn’t breathe. All he knew, all he felt, was his desire to take her, to kiss her. She was perfect, diplomatic, and warm. He sat down, not breaking eye contact, and his heart thudded in his ears, and her lips claimed his attention, pink and soft. He leaned in, and she did not recoil, and his eyes closed as he came closer…

There was a knock at the door. Cullen heard himself groan. He scratched his neck awkwardly, and Niamh’s gaze shot elsewhere as she stood up to answer the door. She opened it, and Cullen heard her say, “Seeker…what a surprise.” Cassandra walked up the stairway to her room and narrowed her eyes at Cullen in a very hawk-like fashion.

“Ah,” she said flatly. “I see you already have company.” Cullen’s face flushed.

He retorted quickly. “I was only seeing that she had settled in all right. You saw the flock of vultures that swarmed her upon her arrival, after all.” Cassandra’s face relaxed, but her eyebrows remained high on her forehead, communicating that she was perfectly aware what the Commander was seeing to.

She merely responded, “I see.” She turned to Niamh, whose face was also quite red. “Well, I came to inform you that I found another group of rogue templars hiding out in the Hinterlands. We should dispatch as soon as you are able, to dispose of them.” She shot a reproving look at Cullen. “At your convenience, of course.” Cullen frowned, but he nodded to the Seeker.

He explained gruffly, “The Inquisitor and I were about done anyways.” He bowed to Niamh. “Lady Trevelyan.” He took to the stairs, and he stormed off, wanting to put as much distance between him and what he had almost committed himself to. Would he even be able to handle a relationship? What if she didn’t want him in return? Had she simply been caught up in the moment? His head was beginning to ache…

His tower was a welcome sanctuary. He closed the door firmly, praying that there was nothing else that needed attending. The sun was setting, and hopefully the others were on their way to bed. He looked out the window. Niamh’s lights were out, except for firelight to keep her room warm. What a fool he had been.

He tidied up his office, trying to put things in their places, but his mind was too busy with thoughts of her, with thoughts of what could and couldn’t be, and how humiliating it was having Cassandra interrupt them, even though, he resigned, that it had likely been for the best. He removed his armor and put it in the chest by his bookshelf.

He had put a hand on one of the ladder rungs up to his room when he heard a knock on his door. Groaning, he growled, “What?” under his breath. He undid the latch and opened it to find Niamh standing at the door. She was dressed in a linen shirt, a brown buckskin vest, and navy blue wool breeches, boots back on. Her hands were demurely behind her back, and she looked at him, eyes round and wide.

She was nervous.

He dipped his head. “Inquisitor.” She returned the gesture, and he asked, “What brings you here?” She cast her gaze down on the stone beneath her feet. Her hair, loosely flowing down her back, flickered in the wind.

“Well,” she stammered, “I…well, that is, you…um, I guess I just wanted to thank you. For today.” She glanced back up at his face briefly before returning her gaze to her toes. “I didn’t expect you to take such…interest in my well-being.” Cullen nodded.

When she returned her gaze to his, he opened the door wider, a silent invitation in. “Did you sleep at all?” She stepped in, the cold air mingling with the warmth of his office. He shivered a little, for all he wore were his shirt and breeches, his cloak somewhere else where it wasn’t useful.

She looked around. “A little. Perhaps a half hour or so. I didn’t have time for much more.” She turned and looked at Cullen, still looking a bit anxious. “The cheese was quite good, by the way. Thank you.” Cullen dipped his head, smiling a lopsided grin.

“It was the least I could do.” The awkward silence that ensued put Cullen on edge, and he rubbed his neck, unsure of what to say.

Suddenly, they were both speaking at once.

“I’m sorry about earli-”

“About what happened, I-” They both laughed sheepishly. Cullen gestured with a hand to give her the floor. “Please.” Niamh smiled.

“It’s just…I really do like you, and when we were upstairs, I…” She blushed, and a nervous hand came up and curled up defensively at her collarbone as she looked aside, tucking her chin in. “I…” and she sighed, as if resigning, and looked at him, “I really appreciated being able to talk to you so candidly.” She smiled, but it was hard and forced, like she was in pain for not saying what she had come to say, and her eyes looked as if she was about to cry. Cullen’s heart sank. “Anyways,” she continued, “that was all I wanted.” She turned to the door, moving to leave.

Cullen heard his own voice call out to her, whispering, “Wait.” She turned around in time to see him grab her arm and claim her lips with his own. She smelled sweet and warm, like anise and summer, and her lips cushioned his perfectly. He reached up with one hand and threaded his fingers through her hair. He felt her small hands reach up and lay upon his chest, grasping his shirt, and it relieved him to know that she enjoyed it as much as he did. With the other hand, he clutched her wrist, holding her hand over his heart.

She ended the kiss, nuzzling his nose aside, and she looked up into his eyes, irises swimming in the haze of it all. “I…I should go, before…” He nodded, feeling the draw of her kiss pull him in for more.

“Mm-hm…” She laughed a small laugh, and he grinned foolishly, boyishly. She pressed another kiss against the corner of his lips, and let go of his shirt.

Without breaking eye contact, she backed into the door and grasped the handle. “Goodnight, _Commander_.”

He smirked. “Good night, My Lady.” With that, she disappeared behind the door, and Cullen ran his fingers through his hair. “Maker…” He locked the door, and he stood there, almost unbelieving.

Perhaps there was a chance there after all.


End file.
